


A Northeast Stream

by building_a_desert



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Briefly Mentioned OFC, Codependency, Established Relationship, Father/Son Incest, Fingerfucking, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Prompt Fill, mild crossdressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 16:59:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1477156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/building_a_desert/pseuds/building_a_desert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The older man’s gentle ministrations, so caring, so attentive, heightened every sensation, paved the way for feelings of possessiveness within the boy, feelings he knew were mirrored within Rick. Carl knew he would never be able to let his father go, could never share him, let anyone else take him away or come between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Northeast Stream

**Author's Note:**

> WOAHHH I'm so sorry this took forever, guys. As usual, it's work, procrastination, and plain old trying to find the muse. But your comments help immensely and honestly help me to get the next fill done quicker, so don't be afraid to lemme know how AMAZING you found this fic hahaha. <3
> 
> Written in response to the prompts: 
> 
>  
> 
> "Some redshirt starts flirting with Rick. Carl is a jealous little shit and acts out to get back Rick's attention."
> 
> and
> 
> "Carl finds some clean, girl, panties, puts them on, and Rick catches him checking himself out in them on a full body mirror. What does he do?"
> 
> Unbeta'd, so any and all mistakes are my own.

  

* * *

 

 

                Carl’s narrowed eyes followed the ground in front of him, thoughts drifting away from the monotonous pattern of _left foot, right foot_ , _black boot, brown boot._ It felt like the ordeal had lasted a week, but what was left of his internal clock told him no more than an hour, maybe two, had passed.

 

                He and his father had been travelling, as was the status quo these days. They kept off the streets, travelled only in daylight, and scavenged where they could. It has been almost a year since the prison, since they had a group, and their relationship had understandably changed to compensate.

 

                Carl _had_ to adapt, to take up more of the burden. He couldn’t hold onto a makeshift family long scattered to the winds, to resentment and blame towards a man who was only human. He would only get himself killed, create rifts where they needed solidarity.

 

                Cold nights used to be a reason for huddling close together; now they were the excuse. Rick’s arms became a constant every time Carl closed his eyes for sleep, strong biceps wrapped securely around the boy’s slimmer form. They both sought comfort in each other, and gradually, bridges formed from the remains of once impenetrable walls.

 

                It wasn’t that Rick became less “Dad” and more something else. The relationship they had now was undefinable, something that included but surpassed the love of a father and his child. It seemed inevitable after a while, like there was no way to survive alongside just one other person without the dynamic shifting. Coupled with the instinctive drive to keep one another alive, it just made sense.

 

                And it was a smoother transition than some might think. The dead of the night often crept into Carl’s thoughts, the same he was sure could be said for Rick, and seeking comfort from each other was just about the easiest thing to do.

 

                It wasn’t any different that night, maybe four months since the prison, nestled close, inches between their faces, no space between their bodies. But it felt like a long dance finally coming to an end when they met each other’s identical gaze, and Carl couldn’t honestly say who initiated it, but the resulting kiss was a milestone they couldn’t come back from.

 

                The boy often found himself seeking to sooth his father, bring him back down from the frenzied manner he sometimes adopted when dealing with a threat, be it living or dead. Carl had to be his tether back to reality, had to guide the man back to _himself_ and even though it sounded selfish, he knew he was the only reason Rick kept going. Without him, Rick would have given in by now, stopped fighting, and he couldn’t let that happen. He had just as much responsibility to his father as his father did to him.

 

                He tried and eventually learned how to help the older man find peace, took the time to really tune in and be more attentive to his face, his moods. Carl learned to read the only person in the world that mattered to him, wanted more than anything than to be the one constant, dependable, _good_ thing in Rick’s life.

 

                He _wanted_ to be a good son, a good survivor, but being somewhere between 14 and 15, there was only so much he could do. He still required a certain amount of protection; his body, stunted in growth from malnutrition and sleepless nights, was more lean than muscled, and his height still left something to be desired. Both of these were severe disadvantages, something he was bitterly aware of.

 

                Carl could see it in the way his father looked at him, knew he felt immense guilt over not providing for his offspring, his _child_ , but Carl always made light of it, always tried to appease, noting that there would always be more food, that there was bound to be plenty left _somewhere_ , they just had to keep looking. No matter what, he kept the torch aloft for his father.

 

                Fight or flight was a given, it was familiar, it was comforting in its normalcy. Carl was by far accustomed to it at that point. But the adrenaline in the middle of the night as a result of skilled hands stroking, pleasuring, _worshipping_ his body, was an entirely different story.

 

                He hadn’t had the chance, hadn’t been old enough to experience anything before the fall of civilization, didn’t even know what sex _was_ until Hershel’s farm. “The Talk” had been prompted by Lori’s pregnancy, a conversation that should be a laughable memory by now, if things were normal. Now it only felt singed with grief, like most things these days.

 

                In many areas, the teen had surpassed expectations one might have of someone his age. It was surprising, his ability to overcome, adapt, survive _._ But his mind still rallied against itself, still tried to find even footing in a world where one wrong move meant immediate devastation, the loss of everything that mattered. His brain, still so damn _impressionable_ , struggled to differentiate between right and wrong and was ultimately dictated by a sliding scale of emotions.

 

                Carl could rationalize how dependent he was on his father, was perfectly able to think about the desperate way he clung to the man at night, the only time he allowed his guard to be down. He felt so much at night with Rick in order to compensate for the mask he _had_ to wear during the day. But with the release of bottled up feelings comes a harrowing whirlpool of confusion, of not knowing how to put it all back together and hide it away until the next night.

 

                The older man’s gentle ministrations, so caring, so attentive, heightened every sensation, paved the way for feelings of possessiveness within the boy, feelings he knew were mirrored within Rick. Carl knew he would never be able to let his father go, could _never_ share him, let anyone else take him away or come between them. They had been through everything together, had kept each other alive through it all. Anyone else would be too much, unwelcome. A burden.

 

                The sound of his name shook Carl out of his reverie and, glancing up, found his father gazing at him, that ever reliable look of concern etched across his face. The boy glanced around and spotted the house they’d been staying in for the better part of a week now. It wasn’t “home” by any means, too unstable, too exposed. But with the nearby market and pharmacy, taking up temporary residence was a simple enough conclusion.

 

                A hand grasped his shoulder, pulled him snug to Rick’s side, and together they quickly made their way into the house. Though the hold wasn’t restraining, it held a certain degree of intensity, like Rick needed to maintain physical contact and Carl honestly wasn’t feeling any different at that point. After making sure the rooms were clear, the arm slowly slid away from his shoulders, parting entirely after a lingering caress to his back.

 

                “Why don’t you go get changed?” Rick muttered, and Carl kept his line of sight hidden beneath the rim of his hat. Of course, his father needed time, needed to think, didn’t want to be alone with his son. The reminder that things maybe weren’t so black and white would obviously cause the man to second guess everything, and Carl honestly didn’t know how to react with anything other than this strange muted jealousy.

 

                But fingers cupped his chin, tilted his face to meet the gaze of his father, and the boy was met with such _reverence_ in those eyes that he was momentarily struck dumb.

 

                “I’ll be in in a minute,” Rick whispered, thumb tracing down his cheek, “Just wanna double check the windows and door, make sure we’re secure.”

 

                Relaxing for a moment, Carl leaned into the touch, _needing_ the reassurance it provided. He blinked and the moment was lost.

 

                “Okay,” he said, feeling slightly out of place, uneasy, and though he felt the desperation, the _vulnerability_ inherent in being parted from his father, the teen too sought solitude in that moment.

 

                Turning away and crossing the threshold of the bedroom, Carl lit a small candle as per usual, and habitually undid the buttons on his shirt, letting it fall open. He came to stand before the large armoire, large vanity mirror taking up a majority of the wall behind it, and gave himself a moment to gather his scattered thoughts.

 

                It was evening now, sun fast setting. Earlier they had both ventured to the general store, their supplies running low. It was a normal activity, nothing they hadn’t done before. The town was small, deserted it seemed. But running into a few walkers was still normal, expected even. Running into a group of them, large gatherings too, were all viable options these days.

 

                Everything had been fine; they didn’t use words, but signals, soft whistles if necessary. There was no sign of danger, no telltale gurgling, no approaching footsteps. The duo had just rounded the corner into the shop when they heard the sound of a gun cock.

 

                Rick had acted immediately, grabbing his son and shoving the boy bodily behind him, but no shots were fired, not yet. Carl had peeked around his father’s arm, and remembered feeling the hair on the back of his neck rise.

 

                She was young, though older than Carl. Early, maybe mid twenties, it didn’t matter anymore, but she had been alone, and for some time. It showed. She wasn’t manic, mood seeming very stable. She was cocky though, no other word for it, and had little manners to speak of. But there was a gleam in her eyes Carl had seen before, was sure he’d see again.

 

                The situation had been _uncomfortable_ , and that was an understatement. She asked them who they were, where they were going, if they had a camp nearby, all the expected questions. Rick spoke for them, both hands keeping steady aim while his voice carried that authoritative tone others just couldn’t help but respond to.

 

                Objectively, she was attractive. Tall, skinny, but obviously fit to take care of herself. Long dark hair and a pretty face. Carl felt on edge just being around her, but Rick, sensible Rick, kept the conversation going. Even then, the man was still able to call back his old mannerisms as a cop, appearing confident and appeasing.

 

                But just because she may be a victim, like everyone in this world, didn’t mean the woman was vulnerable. She had survived by her own merit, her own actions. She was just as desperate an animal as they were. She introduced herself as Paulette.

 

                Carl had remained just behind his father, attached at the hip, and not liking the look in the woman’s eyes. It was too obvious, to him anyway, what she saw. A man, strong, capable, caring for his son. She yearned for a family again, they all did, and he didn’t blame her for that. Surely she’d lost her own.

 

                They’d all lost something, though, and Carl couldn’t let himself empathize, not with the way she paid so much _attention_ to his father, levelled that confident, lascivious smile at him. Carl could feel himself growing offended, felt the heat rising up his ears. Guns were lowered, threat assuaged for now, and the unmistakable, one-sided _flirting_ continued.

 

                She’d relayed her story, though they didn’t ask. Told of her group, her family, how she’d been on her own for a time. How she’d been looking for others. Her insinuations weren’t subtle, but they didn’t make it easy on her, Carl offering only a blank stare while Rick offered his condolences, explaining that they’d all been through hell. This only opened the doorway for the inevitable, Paulette pointing out that three was better than two, that she could be valuable in _plenty_ of ways. She still seemed on edge, though, like one wrong word would set her off. Her trigger finger was itchy, her handling of the gun erratic. She was dangerous.

 

                A groaning filled the air, and everyone tensed, immediately locating and taking aim at the lone walker stumbling down the nearest aisle. Carl watched his father quickly go for his knife and unsheathe it, but before the man took two steps, three shots rang out and the walker dropped, head now a concave mess of gore. Turning, Carl opened his mouth in distaste as Paulette had the _gall_ to look proud of herself. Apparently, she felt justified with the excuse of the town being deserted, that she had been in the area long enough to know, that a few shots wouldn’t attract any real attention. This only irked Carl more, internally raging over how someone so _ignorant_ could survive so long.

 

                She seemed so confident in their safety, in fact, that she strolled out the front door, arms extended, and began explaining how she had a keen knack for sensing walkers, that she knew when one was near, and knew almost for a fact that there weren’t any within a fifty mile radius, when it happened.

 

                Carl raised his gun, muscle memory momentarily taking over, but froze just as quickly. Nearly a dozen walkers had swarmed the woman in less than two seconds flat, taking her down in a hail of bullets. The boy felt a long-forgotten wave of empathy, the helplessness of being attacked resonating powerfully within him. He felt the need to _help,_ to _save her_ , but the feeling was gone as quickly as it began.

 

                She’d brought it on herself.

 

                Carl’s thoughts were settled back on track when Rick grabbed him roughly, hauled him out of the room and the store, and stabbed one or two walkers in the head as they passed. They didn’t slow down until they reached the cover of their temporary neighbourhood, and didn’t say a word until they reached the house.

 

                He still felt uneasy, eyes staring holes in the floor. The boy’s feet moved with their own momentum, swinging below him while boots raked over the once clean carpet. The woman, Paulette, was still in his head, that smile, her cries for help, those hungry eyes directed at his _father_. She wasn’t important to them, wasn’t someone they had cared about. But the feelings she evoked, the wave welling higher and higher within Carl’s throat, were all testament to the impact she had left.

 

                Maybe the shock of finding another living human after so long was the reason; he’d _like_ for that to be true. But the boy couldn’t deny that having his father’s attention diverted, even for a short time, shook him a little too much. The world today dictated that people were just as valuable as food or water. The ones you chose to travel, to survive with, they were what mattered the most. They were holding onto a life with purpose, with sentimentality, with which to share your lives. Codependency was a necessity.

 

                He wasn’t sure how Rick felt about the ordeal, not sure if they would even discuss it. Nonverbal communication was fine, a skill that had immense advantages, but sometimes the teen just wanted to talk, for hours, with his father. But the words would never come, fragmented sentences trailing off until emotions took control, until he gave up in frustration.

 

                Tonight, though, he itched for acknowledgement. He wanted to know Rick’s thoughts, if the interest freely offered to him tonight had affected him. He wanted to prove to his father what the man meant to him.

 

                Focusing on the matter at hand, which seemed to be looting through what was left of a dead woman’s outfits, Carl dug through the shirts. He tried finding something ambiguous enough to pass off as men’s clothes, a flannel blouse, some straight-legged jeans, anything. In this world, it wasn’t prudent to be picky over what clothing to wear, not anymore.

 

                Stopping, the boy blinked as a hint of red peeked out from the folds of muted tones. He plucked the fabric out of the drawer and felt his mouth open in momentary surprise. A breath of laughter fell from his lips, eyes taking in the finely laced underwear.

 

                It was a very light, dainty material. A soft red, sheer lace and delicate. It would have been transparent if not for the intersecting lines, weaving intricate floral patterns. It would certainly illicit a response from his father, Carl noted, his heartbeat racing. What response, he had no control over, but he craved, _needed_ Rick’s undivided attention tonight.

 

                Feeling a fierce sort of determination spreading throughout his body, Carl made quick work of his boots and socks, unbuttoned and tugged his pants down, followed by his own underwear. Catching sight of himself in the mirror, the boy slowly slipped one foot through, then the other, and pulled the red garment up until it fit snug around his hips.

 

                A shiver went up his spine, eyes scanning over his reflection. His fingers fisted in his open shirt, pulling it upwards and letting it bunch around his waist, hands resting on his hips and holding it there, leaving his lower torso exposed.

 

                The teen’s long, finely haired legs travelled up high, and were met by the lacey material hugging his upper thighs. He could make out the shape of his length, slowly hardening in response to the stimulation of lace combined with the dirty thoughts plaguing his mind. Carl turned to the side, accentuating the curve of his spine as the lingerie clung to the swell of his rear.

 

                He licked his lips, opened his mouth, his breath coming out slightly faster now. He’d never realized how one article, one piece of _fabric_ could make him look so indecent. The teen wasn’t sure what to make of it, but felt a thrill go through him, wanting to do this, wanting to _prove_ he wanted it.

 

                Wanting to see more, to analyze and feeling oddly pleased by his own appearance, the boy tugged his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor. The soft flutter of fabric, however, did nothing to drown out the sharp intake of breath from the doorway.

 

                Startled, Carl turned and met the gaze of his father, who’s eyes raked over the expanse of his son’s bare form. Rick licked his lips, an echo of the boy’s earlier actions, and, without taking his eyes off of Carl, closed and locked the bedroom door. He took a few long steps into the room before coming to a stop before the diminutive figure before him.

 

                “What’s this?” he asked, voice a sandy mixture of gravel and age. It was gentle, though, softened, especially by the large hands running up and down Carl’s sides.

 

                This sent shivers through the boy, his thoughts going a million miles an hour, but he maintained control for the most part, didn’t let himself fall into the usual pattern of letting his father lead. This was his opportunity to convince, both himself and Rick, that he wanted this, wouldn’t ever _stop_ wanting it.

 

                “Proof,” he answered, fingers curling in the older man’s shirt, pulling him closer.

 

                “Proof of what?” A whisper, arms cradling him, lips drawing near.

 

                “Of whatever you need it to be,” Carl mumbled, meeting him halfway.

 

                His father’s beard scratched at his chin, his tongue laving into his own mouth while seeking hands trailed up and down, gripping and stroking wherever they could. He found himself releasing a small whimper, hips jerking automatically when those warm palms encased his rear, tugging him forward until his member fit snug against Rick’s thigh.

 

                Drawing back, the man used the hold he had as leverage to lift Carl up, supporting him under his seat. Adjusting quickly, the boy wrapped his legs around Rick’s waist, hooking at the ankles, and fisted his hands tighter in his shirt. The older man walked the short distance to the bed and slowly descended onto it, laying his child down with the utmost care.

 

                He remained hovering there for a moment, deep blue eyes searching. Carl met the gaze head-on, though internally squirmed under the scrutiny. He could mimic all the mannerisms he wanted, but there were some things he still felt quailed by when it came to Rick and his sheer _intensity._

                “You know you don’t have ta’ prove anything to me, right?” the man whispered, fingers caressing Carl’s cheeks, brushing the hair that fanned out over his face and pillow like a halo, “You know that _this_ is good; it’s _right_.” The earnest tone of his words sent another shiver through the teen’s body, his limbs clinging tighter to the heavier form.

 

                “I know,” he replied, not knowing which part he was acknowledging. His lips made their way up his father’s neck, tongue darting out, “I know all that, you’ve said it before, but..” Carl let his teeth tug gently on Rick’s earlobe, listening to the man’s breath catch while he continued.

 

                “But what this means, how I _feel,_ it’s more than just surviving with you, going.. going day-by-day because we _have_ to. It’s the _only thing_ I have, _you’re_ all I have. I want this, I want you, I don’t want anyone else and I don’t want _you_ to want anyone else.”

 

                The words came unbidden, tumbling out before he could stop them. He felt suddenly sheepish, exposed, like they still didn’t convey what he meant, like he wasn’t articulate enough, like maybe he just _didn’t_ _know enough words_ , but his father just shushed him, comforted him.

 

                “Hey, hey, listen now,” Rick’s fingers continued their gentle ministrations, his gaze fierce, “There’s _no one_ in this world that could take me away from you. You’re my _son_ , you’re the only person that matters to me anymore.” The fingers halted in their movements, bringing Carl’s full attention to those piercing eyes. “Nothing, _nothing_ else is a priority over you.”

 

                The words washed over the boy, leaving him feeling needy, painfully vulnerable. He initiated the next kiss, lips parting to accept his father’s tongue. He rocked upwards, thighs still spread wide across Rick’s hips, feeling the familiar heady waves robbing him of his sensibilities.

 

                Rick let out a quiet groan, those familiar hands seeking to comfort, to reassure. They regularly returned to the red lace adorning his son’s hips, calloused fingers massaging the skin there, palming the small, hard length, hidden but obviously outlined. Carl could feel the precum dampening the fine fabric, knew his _father_ could feel the response his body was having, and he rocked harder as a quiet whine escaped.

 

                “You’re mine,” was whispered into his neck, bristles rough on his skin, “You’re mine and I’m your’s and nothing will ever change that.”

 

                Feeling a cry welling up in his throat, Carl bit down on his lip. They were never safe enough to freely let go, to scream and moan and _express_ themselves. They were always forced to make do in other ways, to touch, explore, search every inch of their bodies until exhaustion forced them into sleep, and he _resented_ that fact. He resented the world they lived in, resented that it had all gone so wrong but wasn’t sure if he’d even _want_ the things he did if things were normal. All he knew was the deep and longing wish for someplace safe, someplace away from it all, where there was time to _stop_ to _breathe_ and _think._

 

                But they would make do; they always did.

 

                The teen’s fingers quickly hooked under the hem of Rick’s white T-shirt, tugging impatiently. The man pulled away, pulled the offending garment over his head, and resumed his work, ardently sucking and nibbling at his son’s fair skin. Carl could only choke back a gasp, the contact sending electricity up his spine. He _loved_ when his father took the time to mark him, to leave a physical reminder that the boy would be able to trace absently for days.

 

                Rick drew the panties down his son’s hips, just far enough to release the boy’s throbbing member. Carl whimpered again, pearly drops of precum rolling down his shaft as he fell under his father’s adoring, studying gaze.

 

                “You didn’t have ta’ wear these,” the older man murmured, looking pleased in a subdued sort of way, “But you did, for me. Didn’t you?” He grasped Carl’s length and began gently pumping it, thumb sliding across the head with each upstroke.

 

                “Seems you do so much for me these days,” he continued, though Carl could do little more than tremble and arch his spine, overwhelmed, knowing those eyes kept seeking out his face and doing everything he could to meet them.

 

                “You – you do most of the work,” he gasped out, fingers carding through Rick’s curls, clutching the back of his neck, anything to keep his hands busy, “There’s still.. still things I can’t—” His breath hitched after those hands – big, confident, _warm_ – grasped him more fully, applying more pressure.

 

                Carl all but wailed, burrowing his face in his father’s shoulder to muffle his cries, when a few roaming fingers slipped around and wandered down his perineum. One rubbed soothingly, comfortingly, around the rim of his entrance.

 

                The boy could only thank _god_ he still had the sense of mind to be quiet, even when his voice felt beyond his control. Rick’s other hand began rolling his balls, slowly, _tenderly_ , and he was forced to exercise that sense of mind again.

 

                “You keep me here,” the older man replied, voice slowly losing its composure, “You keep me sane. Carl, you keep me _alive.”_

                The teen could only wordlessly open his mouth, trying to find the thoughts, the _words_ to even _compare_ to what Rick had said. He wanted to say so many things, had all these _thoughts_ he wanted to translate. There was such a sizeable gap there, a language barrier, but maybe he’d been going about it wrong, using the wrong tools, overthinking it. Maybe it was so much more simple than that.

 

                “ _Dad,”_ he whimpered, eyes squeezed tight, mouthing desperately to the sweat-slicked skin of Rick’s neck. It was the only word worth anything anymore, a plain sound made from a simple flick of the tongue, a palindrome. It was the noise he could make if he was in trouble, in pain, frightened, even – _especially_ – lost in pleasure.

 

                “I’ve got you.” Three words with such weight to them, a million different meanings.

 

                The fingers disappeared, and Carl drew back slightly to watch Rick retrieve the small bottle stashed under the pillow. A moment later and the boy tensed as a pressure was applied to his entrance, this time slick, more intent. Rick retained some distance between their upper torsos, kneeling between the teen’s legs, and Carl could feel that heavy gaze again. It scanned over him like a searchlight, taking in each detail, every quiver and wince, swept over his heaving chest and dipped down to stare, longingly, _possessively_ , at the boy’s swollen need, giftwrapped in red lace.

 

                Carl’s voice cracked on a cut off moan, the tight ring of muscles giving way as Rick’s thick finger worked its way inside. It crooked slightly, searching, and the boy could only spread his legs wider, trying to accommodate, to make himself as available as possible for his father. His hands grappled for purchase on the sheets, sliding around to grip at the pillow, never settling anywhere for long, not knowing what to do, wanting to pull his father down but knowing the man wanted to _watch._

 

                A rhythm was established, Rick fingering his son, playing him like a finely-tuned instrument while Carl could only writhe helplessly beneath the onslaught. A second finger breached him, soon followed by a third coated in more lube. The stimulation to his prostate combined with the man’s hand alternating between his shaft and balls was too much, the boy could feel himself losing any semblance of control, surrendering entirely to the man above him.

 

                “I’m going to –” a gasp, a breaking voice, “— _Dad_ , Dad _please_ don’t stop, _I_ can’t stop, I need this– need –”

 

                But Carl’s words, his sensibilities, his sanity, were abruptly severed. He came with a cry, burying half of his face in the pillow to stifle the noise. His body continued thrusting _into_ one hand and _onto_ the other. He heard whispers, _(“That’s it, sweetheart, just let it go.”)_ soft encouragements _(“I’ll take care of you, protect you.”)_ barely audible sentiments _(“Daddy’s got you, baby, daddy won’t let you go.”)_ but they were so hard to make out, so hard to store away in his memory, and he was so weightless, so did that even matter?

 

                As his brain slowly gathered itself, the boy became aware of his body’s trembling, his fingers beginning to ache from fisting in the sheets for so long. Opening his eyes, Carl met Rick’s reverent gaze, so full of affection and adoration and feelings he’d never even try and put a name to.

 

                “You okay?” A question that never went unasked.

 

                “Fine,” the teen replied, a lazy smile tugging at his lips, “Great.” A few soft breaths of laughter escaped, his head cocking to one side, mussing his hair further across the pillow. He felt a great sense of relief, felt relaxed. The desperation had worn off slightly, leaving him fuzzy, but content, and subsequently more confident.

 

                Carl slid his fingers up Rick’s arms, settling on his shoulders, and used that as leverage to pull them closer, forcing the man to support his weight on his elbows. He trailed his hands down his father’s chest, drawing lazy circles in the thick hair and following the path it presented, slowly, descending below his naval and stopping at his waistline. He traced the belt buckle and pressed down on it, eyes flitting upwards to lock gazes with Rick.

 

                “Take these off,” he intoned, smiling impishly.

 

                The older man gave a huff of laughter, a nod of his head, and leaned back to strip himself of his pants. Before he could settle back on top of his son however, the boy used one hand to push, imploringly, at Rick’s shoulder.

 

                “Lay back,” he whispered, leaning up slightly, letting his body speak for him, trusting it knew which signals to display.

 

                Carl felt pleased when his father acquiesced, rotating and sitting back against the headboard. Slowly, and making sure to maintain eye contact with that playful little smile dancing on his lips, he straddled the man’s hips, perched right in front of that prominent erection. He could feel the moist head against the small of his back and rocked back into it, watching Rick’s face: eyebrows coming together, jaw clenched tight, signs that could easily be mistaken for pain. The boy let out a breathy, surprised laugh when his father’s hands grasped his hips tightly, holding them still.

 

                “I thought you liked them,” Carl teased, still managing to wriggle back while his hands grasped onto Rick’s shoulders.

 

                “Liked what?” The man’s voice was strained, his arms tensing; he was exercising so much control and not doing anything to hide it, and that thought alone sent a jolt of pleasure through the boy.

 

                “What I’m _wearing,_ Dad.” Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

 

                “Of course I do, you _know_ I do,” the words were rushed, a low timber.

 

                Carl smiled again, grinding back against his father’s cock while the hands that were once trying to hold him stationary began aiding in his movements. He kept seeking out the familiar blue gaze, not about to lose the man in his thoughts, aware of the signs Rick exhibited when he began doubting himself.

 

                “You’re right, though,” he said, feeling positively coquettish as his hips gyrated in little circles, coaxing responses from _this_ man, _his_ father, “I didn’t have to, but I’m wearing them. _For you_.”

 

                Carl felt his heart jump, smile widening, and let his breathing speed up as the steady rocking motions increased. The lace, having ridden back up to conceal his member, did absolutely nothing to hide his body’s acknowledgement to the implications of their positions. He stared into Rick’s eyes, his body reacting, but not his mind, not yet.

 

                “The way she looked at you,” he whispered, “I hated it, didn’t want her near you.” The words came naturally, effortlessly, and Carl might later marvel at how easy it suddenly was to be open and honest when it wasn’t him grappling for self-control.

 

                “She was a stranger, she was dangerous,” he murmured, leaning forward again. He was a hair’s breadth from Rick’s ear, listening to his father’s breathing become more ragged. The man didn’t say anything, though, simply supported his son’s body, cradling him, like he was precious, a treasure to covet.

 

                The teen reached both hands back, one pulling the lingerie to one side, revealing his prepared entrance. The fingers on his free hand firmly grasped the sizeable shaft at its base. He let out another breath of laughter, more nerves than anything, and positioned the leaking head against his opening. Carl remained where he was, letting his lips tug on his father’s earlobe.

 

                “I know you didn’t trust her, didn’t want her with us, and I know you, I know there’s no way you would have let her come. But,” Carl paused, felt the fingers on his hips dig in, gripping him tighter, the anticipation _palpable._

                “I’m glad she’s dead,” he finished, sinking down onto that thick shaft, the breath suddenly forced from his body. The boy didn’t let himself stop, though, not until he felt the press of his father’s heavy balls snug against his ass.

 

                “She was a threat and she _wanted you._ ”

 

                Carl pulled back, meeting the gaze of his father and feeling his lungs fail him for entirely different reasons.

 

                The man’s pupils were blown wide, leaving only a slim ring of blue. They held his eyes captive, caused him to second guess what he had said, but the sharp thrust that rocked his body quickly dispelled any doubt.

 

                “But she can’t have you,” he moaned, heartened, encouraged, that damn desperation returning, “no one can have you because _I_ have you and no one else knows you like I do, knows the things you’ve _done_ , done for _me,_ and –”

 

                Words failed him when another thrust from below hit that little, perfect, _sensitive_ bundle of nerves and all of Carl’s thoughts consisted of a jumbled mess of possessiveness and belonging and _love_.

 

                “That’s right,” came Rick’s voice, would be barely recognizable to anyone else, but Carl knew, could always pick out the rich tones of soot and safety, “There’s nobody like you, Carl, only you. Always _been_ you.”

 

                Opening eyes he didn’t remember closing, the teen grinned, face shining with sweat and indulgence. He clenched up slightly, watching as his father responded, both in expression and the stuttering of his hips.

 

                “You’ll never have someone else?” he asked, voice suddenly adopting a quiet, coy tone.

 

                “There _is_ no one else _.”_

 

                “Never let anyone else have _me_?”

 

                “ _Never.”_ The grip on his hips and waist turned fierce, more controlling, testament to Rick’s commitment. Carl laughed again, weakly, sensing the change in the mood. The thought of someone touching Carl, someone _else_ , clearly had an effect on his father.

 

                He tried to continue riding the man, tried to use his knees to lift himself and control the fall, but the repetitive motions soon exhausted him. The boy needn’t have worried, however, as Rick quickly compensated and took control. The thickly muscled legs beneath him shifted, locked at the knees, and helped to support Carl’s body.

 

                Thrusts came harder now, Carl doing all he could to hold on, arms wrapped around his father’s neck as the thick shaft inside of him dug deeper and deeper. He knew the intensity of his thoughts, the urgency rising in the pit of his stomach was mirrored in Rick. He could feel the older man’s _heartbeat_ pulsing through him, counter beat to the thrusts rocking his body. Thoughts were spiraling out of control again, the brief moment of control now lost as instincts took over.

 

                The head of Rick’s cock battered his prostate relentlessly, the impact sending jolts of electricity up his length. Each movement caused his breath to leave him accompanied by a whimper, his body feeling overstimulated and overwhelmed and over _powered._

 

                “I love you,” he gasped, not knowing he said it out loud until it was returned, repeated over and over and over into his skin, kisses raining down on his neck and shoulders and scalp, anywhere they could reach.

 

                The orgasm that wracked through him was of an intensity he hadn’t experienced before. Carl’s length went untouched, the stimulation to his prostate being the sole cause for the semen roping onto his abdomen. It left him exhausted, letting his weight rest entirely against his father.

 

                The man’s arms slid around his torso, holding him tight, and thrust into him desperately. Rick was now a man seeking his own completion, and Carl could only hold on as best he could, letting his father use his body, knowing he needed this, the validation, the _release._

 

                And when Rick came, Carl could feel it, and clenched up to enhance the sensation, prolonging it for his father. The man’s essence was pumped deep inside, planted by the thick cock depositing it there. The man’s body shook through it, trembling violently, and the boy felt like he couldn’t draw breath with how tightly he was held.

 

                A few minutes passed, and their bodies slowly relaxed. Rick’s arms slackened their grip, but kept his son close. The sweat on their bodies began to cool, and Carl felt himself begin to shiver.

 

                “C’mon,” his father’s gruff voice said, juxtaposed by the delicate way he handled the teen. Very carefully, he helped to pull Carl off his now softening erection and, drawing the covers back, slipped under them, keeping the boy in his arms.

 

                Carl hummed softly, his brain thoroughly worked over and leaving very little capacity for critical thinking. He nuzzled closer, hands tracing over his father’s chest and arms, instinctively seeking to comfort.

 

                “There’s only you, Carl,” was whispered into his hair, large hands rubbing soothing patterns over his back, “Only you.”

 

                He let a small smile play on his lips and breathed in deeply. The sentiment welled up in the boy’s chest, sending a wave of contentment through him.

 

                “Only me,” he repeated softly, finding and lacing his fingers with Rick's, “and you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come follow me at humdrum-star.tumblr.com~ Also feel free to request any Grimecest plot bunnies you've got bouncing around in your brains. ;3


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